Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.


Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").


decay & ruin
Biosphere II
dead malls
Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff

(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   solemn springy day in Woodstock
Sunday, March 8 2009
By the time it happened in the early afternoon, our brunch at the Garden Café in Woodstock had been whittled down to just Gretchen, me, Deborah, and her new boyfriend Greg. Greg is something of a dandy (or at least a metrosexual), which I hadn't noted the one other time I'd met him. Today he was wearing a crisp vest, a shiny brown shirt, and a tie.
Being one of the first warm days of the nascent season, Woodstock's triangular village green was full of happy pedestrians, as well as the group of women who spend their weekends holding an anti-war banner. Protesting war in Woodstock is a little like preaching sexual abstinence in a kindergarten.
Later Gretchen and I went to the memorial at the Bearsville Theatre for the woman who recently committed suicide, a woman who happened to have been married to one of David's (of Penny and David) distant relatives. There was food, a cash bar, the widower, and perhaps a hundred mourners. The widower was keeping it together enough to preserve the darkly serene ambiance of the event, though the emotion that poked through was heartbreaking. A couple years ago I did some computer housecall work for the guy, and now he and his relatives were wondering what to make of the deceased's computer, particularly an application and set of documents related to the obscure occupation of book indexing. I was sitting at the bar with Penny and David when the widower's sister approached me asking if I could help get those computational affairs in order and of course I said yes.
Meanwhile the weather was warm enough for people to wander outside to a patio area on the bank of Sawkill Creek. I didn't even know the Bearsville Theatre had such an area.

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